


Runnin' From the Risin' Heat

by usedusernames



Category: The Monkees
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Light BDSM, M/M, PWP, RPS - Freeform, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedusernames/pseuds/usedusernames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micky wants Mike to hurry up. Mike wants to teach Micky to slow down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runnin' From the Risin' Heat

  
  


  
  


Getting fucked by Mike had become a sort of post-show ritual.

The first time didn’t happen because of any kind of drug or because of a long night spent drinking. It didn’t happen because of a hesitant conversation about mutual attraction.

It happened because the yells of the crowd had made Micky’s face flush, his heart beat fast, and turned him on just about as much as it possibly could and not end up corrupting the innocent audience. Because he and Mike had returned to their shared hotel room alone, and because remembering the sound of Mike’s voice with his own back on stage riled him some more.

“Boy that was a great show, huh?” Micky had asked when they’d gotten back to their room.

He didn’t hear Mike’s answer. He was deaf from excitement. He was bouncing with each step. He needed something to do so he’d kissed Mike on the lips in some sort of silly, over-excited nothing display of affection. It hadn’t even been sexual.

But it had devolved from there. Suddenly he was on his back in bed, his legs pushed up under Mike’s armpits, and Mike driving into him deep while Micky begged harder, faster. They fucked, got dressed, and retired to their own beds to sleep. It may as well have been masturbation for how intimate it was, but they may as well have been married for how good it felt.

After that it was easy to ride the thrill of the concert into each other’s beds.

This night started very much the same.

The difference was Mike was being a pain in the ass about it.

They were dressed in matching suits, well-fitted and expensive. They could get a job at a bank wearing suits like this. They could walk out into the street and every person who’d ever called them hippies would be wrapping arms around their shoulders, asking them to happy hours at bars classier than the ones they frequented. They were the kind of suits designed to make them look good, and it more or less worked. Micky considered himself too baby-faced to look like much more than a kid on picture day, but Mike at least was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

Micky pretended for just a second that they were a couple of pencil pushers at a weekend seminar about the future of the fax machine. They had to squeeze in a quickie before the Xerox proponents started talking in ten minutes.

He kissed Mike roughly, wet-mouthed, eager-tongued. Mike immediately softened it until it was nearly chaste. No tongue and no desperation. It was just their mouths moving sweet against each other’s.

Micky pulled back, confused, and started again. The stupid business fantasy faded away. He had thousands of miniature roleplays run through his head any given fuck, with very few ever mentioned out loud. Most people seemed to find screwing an internationally-recognized musician more appealing than any of his silly ideas, which was fair enough.

It didn’t matter. They had reason to rush without debating the pros and cons of Xerox: they didn’t always have the luxury of being roommates. “Let’s hurry before Davy gets back,” he mumbled, tugging on Mike’s lapels to urge them backward to his bed.

Mike planted his feet, haulting their movement in the middle of the room. “Cool it. Davy’s taken care of.”

“Oh? Where’d you put the body?”

“Left it with Peter,” Mike said. “Convinced ‘em to take in the sights.”

Micky smiled broadly. “Good,” he said as he unbuttoned Mike’s suit jacket. “Maybe we’ll have time for round two.” He forced his hands inside the jacket to slide it down Mike’s arms.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Mike answered, amused. He caught his jacket as it fell, folded it, and set it on the edge of Micky’s bed.

“I’m not!” Seeing that Mike wasn’t being particularly receptive, Micky started tearing at his own clothes. “You just gotta catch up.” His buttons nearly popped free as he ripped open his jacket. He tugged fiercely at his tie to loosen it. It was reckless, animalistic. He looked natural getting undressed, Mike thought. If there was ever someone a nudist colony was made for, it was Micky Dolenz.

“’Got to’?”

“Yes,” Micky insisted, flinging the tie across the room. He tore off his dress shirt— this time a button did pop. He didn’t bother with it; it was always under the jacket anyway, so what difference did it make? He kicked off his shoes. One flew back across the room and thudded against the door.

"I’m tellin’ you, Mick, we got all night. How about we enjoy it?"

"Man, I’m trying to enjoy it but you won’t let me!"

They stared each other down. There was no animosity, but a full challenge. The friendliest competition there could ever be. Micky ran his tongue across his teeth. His face was always a window into his brain, where his thoughts all flashed in neon letters. Mike had never seen this look aimed at him before, but it was clear just the same that Micky was wondering what the quickest way into bed was.

He decided in an instant and dropped to his knees.

“You’re gonna need a walker when you’re 50,” Mike said, looking down at him.

“What?” Micky asked as he undid Mike’s belt.

“You get on your knees all the time—on stage, here—you’re gonna wear ‘em out.”

“At this rate, we’ll still be here when I do.” He pulled Mike’s pants and boxers together down to the middle of his thighs.

For a second he appreciated the view:

His own cock was good, on the larger side of average. Not exactly large enough to brag about, but not small enough that any girl had felt lied to when he’d bragged anyway.

Mike’s was worth bragging about. It was large, thick, and heavy even when soft. Micky loved making it larger, thicker, and heavier. It was a personal accomplishment to make Mike hard with his own touch.

He went to work, taking the soft cock into his mouth. Above him Mike seemed unfazed except for a single unusually-sharp exhale, but he could feel the hot fullness overtaking his mouth. He worked feverishly, sucking and licking without restraint, his mouth and throat so full it was difficult to breathe.

There was no finesse. He wasn’t so experienced with other boys to know any good tricks, nor was he interested in learning. He didn’t want Mike to come this way, he only wanted to get him hard enough to want a fast fuck instead of the meandering screwing around he seemed bent on.

It seemed to be working. Mike was undressing now, albeit in a way like he might just go to sleep when he crawled into bed. Each button was carefully pulled loose. Micky continued sucking until Mike removed his shirt all the way to throw it with its jacket.

Micky pulled back and blew lightly on the spit-soaked head of Mike’s cock.

He smiled when the muscles in Mike’s thighs quivered.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asked, tipping his head back to look at Mike’s face.

"I do," Mike agreed.

He said some dirty things himself, now and again, but his voice was soft now. It seemed like he was embarrassed of being actually asked.

Micky softened a bit at his tone. He stayed on his knees to untie Mike’s dress shoes. With hooded eyes, he watched Mike finish undressing. It was a beautiful sight.

Mike was strange about nudity. He wasn’t so self-conscious to have a legitimate hangup about it, but having eyes on him unsettled him. Got him a bit more snarky than usual. It made him a cornered dog, ready to bite, if he got looked at long enough. So Micky stopped looking and stood up to finish stripping, himself. He kissed Mike to try and get him involved while he did. It settled the score a bit.

He pulled Mike to the bed. They fell down together easily.

There it fell apart again.

Mike lazily explored every bit of Micky’s body except the part Micky felt worth taking a closer look at. Micky continuously felt at Mike’s cock, grabbed at his ass, and kissed him deep with need, only to be rebuffed. Mike didn’t seem too fussed about it, merely gently redirecting Micky’s attention with a soft kiss on the neck or, at most, by running his thumb across Micky’s nipple.

But then of course he wouldn’t mind. He was the one who didn't want to do anything, Micky thought bitterly.

“Mike, c’mon,” Micky urged. He rutted his hips up against the leg slotted between his own. Even that did little; they were too skinny, all bones and sharp angles, difficult to comfortably hump against on the first try and too many years past high school for him to want to bother. “Let’s go.”

"If you’re bored, I think I got a pack of cards…."

In two seconds flat, Mike was actually rooting through the pockets of his discarded jacket. For a long second Micky watched with a surreal disbelief he’d never felt before. In his world, sex only stopped for the kind of emergency they evacuated cities for; never for mere distraction, and certainly never voluntarily.

Mike sat back down on the bed and pulled the deck from its ratty cardboard container. He ran his thumb over each dog-eared, beaten card, each and every one having been dealt until the backs cracked to reveal soft paper beneath.

It was only when Mike began to shuffle, his hard dick still pressed up against his belly, that Micky realized he’d been had. He burst out laughing while Mike sat very calm, a smirk barely teasing one corner of his mouth.

"Aw, get back here," Micky said, but he didn’t wait before sidling up behind Mike instead. He buried his face against Mike’s back. He mouthed against the smooth flesh in lazy, wet, half-kisses. "I wasn’t bored. We could just be having more fun, is all." His words were just as sloppy, just a needy little complaint sent down Mike’s spine like a shiver.

"You know what’s the matter with you?"

"Lots’a’things," Micky mumbled against Mike’s back. "We can make a list later."

"Your problem here’s the same problem you got everywhere. You care too much about where you’re goin’ to enjoy how you get there."

"Okay," Micky agreed.

"Suppose you get a brand new, fancy car. You drive it off the lot and decide to go for lunch. Are you gonna look out the window, or are you gonna be busy thinking about what you’re gonna order?"

"What I’m going to order?" Micky asked cautiously.

Wrong answer. Mike sighed.

"What, I’m hungry!"

Mike shook his head. He was sweating disappointment.

Micky scowled. He didn’t sign up for a lecture. “Are you going to fuck me, or what?”

There was a long pause.

“Yep,” Mike decided. It was so simple that Micky should’ve expected the addendum: “But we’re gonna do it my way.”

Micky collapsed against Mike’s back, so drained from relief that he had to hang on for support. “Fine.”

Mike looked at him, eyebrow cocked.

“You sure?”

It was a challenge, half-unfinished. _You sure you’re up for it?_

Micky didn’t notice.

“Yes! Yes!” Micky batted his eyelashes, clasped his hands to his heart, and exclaimed, “Take me, I’m yours!” before hurling himself backward onto the bedspread. Mike took his dramatics in stride.

“All right then. Turn over, on your stomach.”

Micky grinned lecherously as he rolled over onto his belly. “I think I like your way, Mike.”

“You will,” Mike agreed. He stood up and again walked away, slapping Micky’s ass as he passed by. The flush that appeared in the shape of Mike’s hand was matched by one in Micky’s face.

“Look in my bag,” Micky said without glancing back, assuming Mike was trying to find lube. “Or Davy has some hand lotion. He won’t notice.”

“You know that’s not true.”

He went to look through Davy’s things just the same. Davy had some kind of order for almost every aspect of his life, a supreme tidiness that Mike enjoyed juxtaposed with Davy’s filthy mouth. Micky had something resembling order for the things that were important, and while anything related to sex doubtlessly counted, Mike still didn’t want to fall down the rabbit hole of the Micky Dolenz Organization System. It took only seconds to find Davy’s lotion, set carefully with his hairbrush, a facial towel, and nail file.

Mike tossed the bottle onto the bed beside Micky before moving onto his true objective.

Micky, momentarily distracted, still didn’t ask what Mike was after. He popped open the lotion’s lid and took a deep whiff. He poured some into his palms to rub it into his hands.

“This smells good, Mike. Kind of lime-y,” Micky called out. Then he chuckled to himself. “That’s appropriate.”

Mike snickered, but could tell from Micky’s tone that he was more tickled with this joke than it called for. He warned, “You say that to Davy, he’ll belt you again,” as he picked up both of their ties from the trail of clothes that lay strewn across the room.

“Oh, yeah,” Micky said. He laid down flat against the bed as he remembered their last fight when Davy had cracked his forehead right into the bridge of his nose. Micky thought it would’ve been harder to reach. “You know, that really hurt. He would’a flattened my face if Mother Nature didn’t beat him to it.”

“You had it coming, Babe.”

Micky didn’t disagree.

When Mike knelt in between his legs, Micky immediately scooted back against him.

Mike didn’t pay attention, grabbing up Micky’s wrists and pulling them down to the center of his back.

“Mike?”

Micky finally turned his head against the mattress to try and watch what Mike was doing, but the sight of his wrists was blocked by his own shoulder. He could only see Mike’s face, pleased, above him, and Mike’s hands as they yanked the ends of the tie into the air to pull the knot tight. Mike looked very strong from this angle, towering up above, with not only his physical size but this new bondage marking him as Master. His eyes were possessive but fond, an owner surveying his hard-earned property. Micky found himself held in place more by that gaze than by the tie around his wrists.

They’d never talked about this before, never mind done anything like it. Micky licked his lips.

“You’re okay,” Mike told him.

The words themselves were fact. Mike knew Micky’s limitations as well as he knew his own.

But the silence that followed was a question. Mike paused with the second tie slack in one hand, waiting for Micky to say he wanted to be let go.

“Yep,” Micky agreed with a smile. “So you better make sure it’s tight, so I can’t escape.”

Emboldened, Mike grabbed a fistful of Micky’s curls and wrenched his head back.

The breath Micky sucked in was empty in his lungs, too full of surprise to have brought in any oxygen. He kept his head obediently in place after Mike let him go, watching as the second tie was brought down over his head to cover his eyes. Micky blinked into the artificial night, his eyelashes spreading uncomfortably on the fabric. Slowly he lowered his face back to the bed. “What’re you going to do?” he asked.

“It’s what you’re gonna do. Now—”

“I can’t do anyth—”

Mike’s finger was dry and rough pushing inside of him but sank deep without problem, thin enough not to hurt without lubrication. Micky groaned into a pillow; it was better this way, hot and desperate and nothing but the frictious push-pull-drag of skin as the finger fucked in and out of him slowly. His body clung more tightly than it would have slicked. “Gonna let me finish?”

Micky thought of ten smartass remarks to that. He said none of them. “Yes.”

“Good man.”

He could hear the smirk in Mike’s voice. The jerk had a funny sense of humor.

“You need to learn to slow down, Mick,” Mike was saying. “Stop racing around all the time. What I need you to do is focus. Enjoy what’s going on instead of getting fixed on the end. And I’m gonna make it easy for you; I reckon all you need’s a distraction. Somethin’ to keep your mind occupied so you can enjoy this—” As Mike’s finger continued pumping, his other hand wrapped tightly around Micky’s cock. He stroked until Micky began humping into his fist, then withdrew.

Micky struggled once, clumsily, against his binds. There was no desire to get away, just momentary forgetfulness that he was tied at all. He groaned when he realized he couldn’t replace the hand around his cock with his own. He panted desperately into his sheets.

Mike smiled, then continued, “—And not be so worried about when we’re gonna get down to business. Does that sound about right?”

Micky nodded his head fast against his pillow.

“So what I’m gonna have you do is tell me a story. I’m gonna keep doin’ this, maybe a few other things if I got a mind to,” Mike said, his hands taking up a lazy pace once again. “And you’re just gonna talk. Normal speed, no rushing through, no skippin’ ahead, and no begging me to fuck you, or I’ll quit altogether. What you get is what you get and you’re gonna be damn grateful for it.” A beat. “Of course, if you do good I’ll reward you. You understand?”

“A story? Like Goldilocks?” Micky laughed, high-pitched. It was a little hysterical.

“That’d do. If I fall asleep with you all tied up, you would have to be patient….”

“Mike.”

“Pete and Davy an’ me went for lunch yesterday, but you weren’t around. You’re gonna tell me what you were doing. Go on.”

Micky nodded.

“I…I went for a walk,” he said. His eyes rolled upward, then closed. It shouldn’t be necessary, but it was. He wanted to look out from under his makeshift blindfold to see what was going on. His face twisted up in a visible attempt to focus. “I saw this neat apartment building, real tall, right in the middle of everything. I had my camera and thought, ‘Wow! The roof’d give me this real great view, this groovy sight’, oh, _oh that’s good_ ,” He rolled his hips in a tight circle around Mike’s finger. He didn’t need to be fucked deeper, just wanted to be spread wider, to have Mike’s fingers to ignite as many nerve endings as possible as they pushed into him. His voice rolled high, “Mike, Mike.”

“Steady, there,” Mike advised. “Been two seconds and you’re gettin’ awful close to beggin’.”

Micky sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. He dug his fingernails into his palms. The pain was arousing and did little to calm him. His voice sped up falteringly, but he dragged it back to normal speed:

“I pushed all the buttons and someone let me in, but the door to the roof was locked. So I stayed on the top floor and knocked on all the doors until someone answered, and I said ‘Boy I bet you got a great view, lemme look out your window’, so he let me in.”

Mike laughed a funny little laugh. It was more self-aware than most people’s, and for that reason more sincere.

“You’re serious?”

“Sure. I got some great shots.”

“Hm,” Mike said, thoughtful. He had no problem getting people to see his point of view; he had his share of good ideas and the forcefulness to back it up when an idea alone wasn’t enough. But Micky had crazy ideas and the personality to make them sound reasonable. Mike was very aware he’d never been that likable.

But whatever jealousy he had gave way easily to a rush of pride.

He pushed a second finger inside of Micky alongside the first. It was tight now, as much as he could fit inside without either lubrication or pain.

Micky moaned a little on every single thrust, even when he was talking. Tiny, raw ‘oh’s of need.

If anyone else moaned as easily as Micky did, Mike would’ve thought they were faking it.

“Then I went to the park,” Micky panted, rolling his head back toward his shoulders. His eyes were no longer just closed, they were now squeezed so tightly beneath the fabric that Mike could tell, because it was contorting the rest of his face. His cheeks were burning red. The dots dancing in front of his blinded eyes were red. His lips were red and chewed. He was lit on fire from the inside and ready to turn to ashes. “I saw a couple’a people but no one recognized me. The kids were in school and I wasn’t dressed too funny. I took some pictures, but they were bad. Blurry. I don’t know. Bad. Bad. It was a nice day, though.” He slammed his face back down as Mike’s rough palm focused on rubbing the head of his dick, getting slicker and slicker on every pass as he seeped pre-come. Micky swallowed, trying to get back in the habit of forming intelligent sentences. It barely worked. “There were a lot of trees, a couple of them even had fruit. I love trees, I love…fruit.” Mike’s fingers curled up inside him, stretching him from within. Mike’s hand was moving fast on his dick now.

He wondered what Mike’s face looked like. He wondered what Mike’s dick looked like, if Mike was still hard just from watching. He hoped so, he hoped it was thick and full and hurting, aching to be inside of him once he’d been taught a lesson. Micky whined, hoping he could reach the end of his story before he reached his limit. He didn’t want to come this way, not until Mike’s cock was inside him. But his own dick was jerking in Mike’s hand. The muscles in his stomach and thighs were coiling up, he was ready to spring loose. He continued, “It was right next to the city, oh God, oh Christ I could hear cars. Christ, I could hear the cars going by, but trees, man, it makes me feel real connected to nature. There were birds in ‘em, and…There was a squirrel in one of them. It made me think of you.”

“Why’s that?”

“It had an accent!” Micky yelped, voice cracking.

When Mike’s hands stopped, so did Micky’s heart. Were jokes not allowed, either? Had Mike said so and he’d forgotten?

The hands pulled away from his body.

Micky fell back from the brink of orgasm, his muscles relaxing involuntarily. He had no idea he’d been that tense. He wanted to come just as much as he was relieved he hadn’t. Boy was he relieved he hadn’t. He was near coming and he was talking about Texan squirrels.

He realized Mike was laughing. It only made him more nervous.

He could be serious—

“It was—” he started.

A wet squelch sounded to his right. After a moment Mike’s hands returned, three lotioned fingers working their way inside. The other hand, softer now, went to his hip instead of returning to his dick, withholding the stimulation that would push him over.

“Oh, God. It was just so nice, I wanted you to see it.” Micky was shaking. “Mike, I went back to the hotel after that. That was all I did. That’s it. That’s the end.”

“You’re sure that’s all?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

The fingers were gone. The embodiment of want. Tangible emptiness.

“I dunno, that’s awful short…Sure you aren’t skipping bits?”

“I didn’t do anything else, I swear.”

“You grateful for what I did for you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Micky whimpered again. “Mike pl—” he bit down on his lip to keep from begging.

He felt the head of Mike’s cock tease against his asshole. Felt it push just enough to make him open wide for it without truly entering.

“ _Please!_ ” Micky sobbed, ashamed.

Mike must’ve wanted this, despite his forbidding, because it was at that moment that he thrust his cock in to the hilt.

Mike took his good, sweet time with this, too, like he hadn’t been sitting there with an erection and no one touching his hard cock. This was a means to an end, and he wasn’t fussed with it. He was cerebral. The manhood he needed stroked was a different sort entirely, the sort that told him he’d won whatever game he was playing. Nesmith 1, Dolenz 0.

Micky came, spurting across his own belly, within a few lazy strokes of Mike’s cock.

Mike didn’t pick up his pace. He stayed fucking slow, languid.

Micky whimpered encouragements and rhythmically clenched his muscles around Mike’s cock to urge him on, but Mike halted the rush: He grabbed up the ends of the tie that wrapped over Micky’s eyes and yanked it like reins to get him under control. That was what this was, a ride into the sunset. No destination, just serene, almost existential enjoyment.

Micky couldn’t go that far, but he caved to the muted pleasure of being fucked post-orgasm. It was all very friendly and sweet when the touches continued after coming, when there was no longer a real point to it, and he liked that connection.

It took several long minutes for Mike to come. When he did, Micky felt the same tight joy in his chest as when he’d done so himself.

Mike fell heavy onto Micky’s back, his softened dick still pressed up inside of him.

Micky tried to flatten his bound hands to make lying there more comfortable, but he could still feel the bones of his fingers and wrists digging into Mike’s stomach. If Mike minded he didn’t let on;he laid there very quiet and calm until he finally got around to rolling off to let Micky free.

Micky didn’t realize how much he’d sweat until Mike untied him and the air met his clammy wrists and wet hair. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. With only two 60-watt bulbs in the middle of the room it wasn’t bright, but his eyes hurt just the same. He blinked a few times, slowly, to adjust.

In between one of his blinks, Mike had gotten up from the bed. Micky turned and watched as he gathered up his clothes. He always did, and it suited them both fine.

But “You can stay with me a while,” Micky said now. He lifted his arm, beckoning Mike back in to cuddle close. “You don’t have to get dressed.”

"It’s drafty in here,” Mike said. It wasn’t. “You know all about gettin’ outta a draft.”

Micky wasn’t sure if this was meant as a joke or as barb to distract from insecurities.

He found it funny, so he laughed.

"That’s true.” He said pleasantly, and lowered his proffered arm. He watched Mike peripherally as he dressed, chewing on his lip as Mike buttoned up his dress shirt. Bit down harder when he saw Mike straighten the tie that had been wrapped tightly around his wrists just moments before and put it back around his own neck. He tasted a drop of blood. “Don’t put the jacket on, you look good like that. Like this sexy, exhausted businessman just came home and wants to fuck out all his office frustrations.”

The look Mike fixed him with was bizarrely suspicious. It was more like he’d seen Micky murder someone with his bare hands than he’d just been paid a compliment. It was kind of endearing. It was a little annoying.

A long beat.

Mike folded his jacket over his arm.

Micky smiled and pulled the blankets up around himself.

Mike walked across the room, pulling the chair from a cheap wood desk to sit. It was clear it was made for someone much shorter than he was. He felt like a clown on a tricycle. He decided not to think about this image too much; he was sure he could dream it into existence and have it end up in their next episode.

He looked over at Micky spread out on the bed. He was awake— Mike could see one eye cracked open, not quite fixed on him— but breathing soft and slow. He looked very young and very small.

It wasn’t as though Micky was small; he was over six feet tall and comfortable enough in his long limbs to use every inch, rarely hiding in a slouch. The problem was that he was often larger than that. Larger than anything, bigger than life. Talking loud, hands flying wide in wild gesture, climbing furniture, busting a gut laughing every second of the day. He spent so much of his time in a rolling boil that even six feet of him seemed like nothing at all once the heat was removed.

It was interesting. Mike watched him.

There could never truly be an unobtrusive nature documentary. No one could ever set foot into a lion’s den and know how the pride would behave if they weren’t there. Once a person stepped in, a change would made whether the documentarian knew it or not. Instinct would recognize the intrusion. An animal would know it was being watched, and they would change to try to compensate.

People were often the same. Micky when he was hamming it up for his audience was the same. Right now, though, Micky was different. Soft, vulnerable, and naked beneath one thin sheet, and open about all of it. He knew full well that Mike’s eyes were on him, but he may as well have been alone in the room.

It was almost impressive how little he cared. Mike considered his stare one of the hardest around.

He watched until he was surprised Micky hadn’t called him out on it.

That thought was his cue to head out. Observing people seemed as normal as any other pastime in his book, so he didn’t mind much when the people he watched told him he was being weird. Weird was subjective. But once he realized he’d been at it so long he thought it was weird himself, well, that seemed long enough.

“See ya, Mick.”

“See you!” Micky chirped. He raised a hand to wave at Mike’s departing back.

He didn’t stop waving until the door was closed.

  
  


 

 


End file.
